Craving
by YourJoyIsMyLow
Summary: "Sorry for de wake up, Swamp Rat. Ah was wanderin', would ya mind sharin' a cigarette with me?" If his eyebrows went any higher, they'd hit his hairline. "Petite, ya come ta me at 2 am, wakin' me up, callin' me a Swamp Rat and askin' to give ya a drag?"


Uh-oh. Little scenes were hitting me whole day today and finally, in the middle of the night, I came up with the idea how to put them in one story. Pointless fluff with a rooftop scene (I love them. There is never enough Romy rooftop scenes!).

PS. Oh, I'm so not good at accents so I did the minimum, just leaving a bit here and there. Anybody got tips how the hell write them? I know Rogue's different than Remy's which confuses me even more.

Disclaimer: Yeah, like hell they're mine. Not gonna happen anytime soon. Much to my sorrow.

* * *

Oh, GOD.

She really, really needed a drag.

Well, more like her psyches needed a drag, thus she needed a drag.

Normally, succumbing to whims of her psyches made them even louder and resulted in getting them spoiled, which in turn meant they tended to be like children - demanding and having no respect towards her peace of mind whatsoever. But now, God help her, at least five people were in need of a good smoke, and her hands just itched for the thin, poisonous stick between her fingers.

"_Sheila, if I don't smoke in three minutes, I'm gonna set something on fire!"_ Pyro's psyche surfaced.

"_Yeah, totally, and I'm gonna blow something up!" _Boom-Boom chipped in.

"_Oh, just shut up! I wonder who will pay for my treatment when I get lung cancer because of you, little Satan spawns!"_

Rogue tried to block the psyches out, but the want remained.

Frustrated, she threw off her covers and wondered where to go.

Logan won't give her his cigar under no circumstances and sneaking into his room would be a suicide (no one, _no one_ sneaks into Logan's room. He may have a soft spot for her, but not that soft. She wouldn't get dismembered, true, but cleaning the blackbird with a toothbrush was not a punishment she wanted to endure, especially if she was being punished for her psyches' whims).

She knew Roberto smoked from time to time, but she was not close enough with him to pop up at his door in the middle of the night.

That left a certain infuriating Cajun.

She was going to kill her psyches and their owners one day.

Rogue crept up the corridor, careful not to stand on the places were the floor creaked. One, two, three steps... Yup, straight at his door. A sense of panic overwhelmed her and she had an urge to run, but the need surfaced again. Cursing under her breath, she knocked at his door.

One, two, three, nothing. Just when she thought she can safely back out to her room without the guilt of not having done everything she could, the door opened, revealing a half-naked Cajun leaning on the door frame.

Her mouth formed a perfect "o".

"Chere? To what do I owe dis pleasure?" his eyebrows went up.

Somehow, despite the unholy hour, he still managed to look like some half-god. His unruly brown hair sticked out in all directions making him look adorable, and his naked torso gleamed in the moonlight with his loose pants hanging dangerously low, showing a bit of his hipbones.

Oh, boy. Half-god? More like a full-mindblowing-god.

Not that Rogue would ever admit it to herself, much less anyone else.

_'But that happy trail really does look inviting...' _she stopped that train of thought before it could get her in trouble, and focused on her mission of getting a smoke.

"Sorry for de wake up, Swamp Rat. Ah was wandering, would ya mind sharin' a cigarette with me?"

If his eyebrows went any higher, they'd hit his hairline.

"Petite, ya come ta me at 2 am, wakin' me up, callin' me a Swamp Rat and askin' to give ya a drag?"

Rogue squirmed. God, she hated asking people for help. Even if it was just a stupid cigarette.

"Pretty much."

"And what will Gambit have from dis?"

Oh, that smirk of his. Like this wasn't humiliating enough.

She rolled her eyes, deciding to play it cool.

"Mah fabulous company for the time being."

Remy bowed slightly (smirk still in place) and made room for her so she could enter.

She stood, feeling like an idiot, in the middle of his bedroom, watching as he went to his dresser, put on a long sleeved t-shirt and threw his infamous tench coat on. Then he went to the balcony door, and once he was outside, his figure quickly disappeared.

Whoa! Where the hell did he go with her cigarette?

"Cher, ya comin'?"

Quickly, Rogue rushed to the balcony to find Remy climbing the wall and pushing himself up to the rooftop. She followed, accepting his hand.

Once on the roof, Gambit rummaged his pockets in search of his Marlboro, while Rogue anxiously waited. Finally, when he found them she practically teared the cigarette from his hand. He lit its tips with his fingers, watching amused as Rogue held the little stick as if her life depended on it.

"Seems to Remy ya needed this badly, huh?"

Rogue closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She let the smoke lounge a bit in her mouth before releasing it, while Gambit tried very hard to keep his imagination in check. Damn those plump, full lips of hers...

Rogue laid down on the tiles and stretched her arms behind her head, with her legs bent at the knees. She was staring into the sky, enjoying her drag, taking long breaths and lazily releasing the smoke. Remy sat closely, watching her intently. She was wearing a tank top, which at some point was probably pink, now washed out lilac, and a pair of soft black cotton pants with a waistband. Feet bare, but delicate opera gloves present, as always.

"So, what's with the cigarette at 2 o'clock in the mornin'? Remy didn't know his cher smoked."

A shrug of her shoulders.

"Ah don't. It's yer doin. And Ah'm not ya anything.'"

That earned her a doubtful look from the Cajun.

"So y' tellin' _moi_ it's my fault, den? How so?"

"Ya desperately wanted one. Well, the you in mah head, anyway," she tapped her temple. "Along with Logan, St. John, Lance and Tabby. Ah swear the girl's de worst smoker Ah eva met. Technically, Logan craved a cigar, but at this point everyting is good enough for him."

Silence followed – but not the uncomfortable one. They just sat, content with smoking their little guilty pleasures (which Gambit at some point lit for himself, too). With her eyes half closed and posture relaxed, Gambit tried to recall a moment when he ever saw her like this – relaxed, without an ounce of make-up, green eyes shining like emeralds.

"You're cold, chéri."

She wasn't even shivering.

"And ya know this because...?"

"Your nipples are sticking up."

He was expecting a kick in the gut, a growl accompanied by a shriek and maybe a threat of pushing him off the rooftop, but Rogue just blew the smoke out and laughed.

"Perv."

"Huh? No growling and throwing a fist?"

"Don't feel like fightin' today. And Ah'm not givin' ya the satisfaction. B'sides, no matter what Ah say, it won't stop ya from starin' at mah chest."

"True enough, petite. But seriously, if they become any more pointy, they gonna poke my eyes out."

_That _earned him a hard kick in the shin. He winced in pain – damn, that femme could kick!

"Ya crossing a line, Cajun."

He didn't respond, still massaging his leg. He was quite sure he would find there a nice, purplish bruise in the morning.

Minutes later, Rogue finished her cigarette and stubbed it out.

She got up, cleaned her backside of all little rocks and leafs and offered her hand to Remy.

"Come one, Swamp Rat, we need to get in before the nipples of mine you love so much freeze into permanently erected state."

And then she hopped out.

* * *

Keep in mind that English is not my native language.

Reviews = love.


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